by Mathy, Scott
The Warden disembarked from the cabin, urging her guests to join her, “Yes, well, some of our residents participate in their own art therapy program regardless of what I tell them. If this is the worst they get up to, I count us lucky.”
The assembly made their way through the base’s corridors, encountering the occasional inmate going about their daily business. For the most part, they were all clad in the same blue jumpsuit as their three chaperones. The collected sample of Powers was shocking to Dwight: mutant, alien, and mage were all represented among the denizens of Afterlife. Each of them cleared the path, immediately scattering like cockroaches from the Warden and her guests.
“We currently house two-hundred twelve Powers, as well as thirty Normals from all around the world,” she boasted.
Geller tapped her on the shoulder, “Bryce and Warner,” he said without context.
She corrected her introduction, “Two-hundred ten. Anyway, feel free to occupy yourselves with whatever you want, but know that everyone here is subject to my decisions. I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t threaten me or my people.”
“It has done wonders for my research,” Geller added. “No need for oversight boards and restrictions, so long as it doesn’t endanger the base.”
“So, what about Bernard?” Dwight asked.
They stepped through an open bulkhead, entering an enormous circular room that descended deep into the moon. The series of catwalks spanning the gap crisscrossed into the darkness below. The Warden stopped before them, turning to face the gathered crowd, “When someone makes it their first priority to throw my home into disarray over a dick-waving contest, I will make it clear who’s in charge in whatever way I deem necessary. Frankly, Mr. Referee, I may try to appear friendly and welcoming, but this is my prison, too, and I’m going to make this exile as comfortable for me and my crew as I can.”
“I only need to see him for a few minutes. You can leave him in whatever pit you threw him in as long as we can have access to it.” At the back of his mind, he could feel the grating fatigue of the serum running out. He thought about his earlier calculations before realizing that he couldn’t tell how long he had been falling through the anomaly. The only way to know would be to check the gauge hidden inside of his arm, something he couldn’t do in front of the Warden and her henchmen.
She pointed at him, “You’ll see him if I say you will. I’ll be the one that makes that decision when I’m ready.”
At the end of her statement, a tone echoed throughout the facility. The Warden and her lackeys seemed to take strange comfort in the sound, “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a prison to run. Feel free to ask someone else for directions, if you’re looking for bunks. We’ll be in touch.”
With that, the woman turned and proceeded through the bulkhead at the far end of the catwalk, leaving the new arrivals alone in the center of the gigantic shaft. Dwight dropped to a knee. The Doc helped him sit down against one of the rails running along the platform. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the phantom Bernard laughing.
“What’s wrong?” Ellis asked. “Are your symptoms getting worse?” She held a hand against his forehead.
“Maybe; give me a second.” Dwight removed the cover from the prosthetic. Checking the gauge, he saw that his suspicions were correct: the meter read almost zero. He weighed the choice to replace it immediately or wait until it was completely empty. Deciding that he might need every second, he replaced the cover without changing the cartridge.
The stabbing pain behind his eyes continued, “Doc, what the fuck are we going to do? We can’t get to Bernard without their permission, and we have no idea where they’re keeping him.” He felt his chances growing slimmer with each passing second.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but can I leave you for a bit?” She asked suddenly. “I left my tools back on Acheron. I didn’t want them to get confiscated.”
Dwight felt more desperate and alone, realizing the mechanism for making his antidote was now forty minutes away by heavily-guarded tram. “Go; I’m dead if we don’t have the bag. I might just make friends with some of the locals while you’re gone. Where do you think I should get my gang tattoo?”
She kissed her hand and patted him on the head, “Play nice with the prisoners, find somewhere quiet to hide, and get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He didn’t want to ask her how she planned on getting access to the elevator, or how she expected to get the hefty bag past the inhabitants of the prison. This was Ellis, he figured; there wasn’t anything she couldn’t accomplish with some creative application of science. At least, that’s what he hoped.
She bounded off, moving with a sense of urgency he appreciated. Once she was gone, he contemplated trying to drag himself to his feet to find a hidden supply room or otherwise disused hole to rest in. The mere thought, however, put him to sleep where he was. His exhausted body slumped down on the hard steel grating over the black nothingness below.
Eleven
“What ‘av we ‘ere?” the phantom Bernard stood on the catwalk beside Dwight, staring down at the fallen hitman.
He felt a tugging at his shoulder. Dwight’s blurry vision followed his limb up to a face. An inmate stood beside the figment, trying to rip the replacement loose.
“That’s mine,” was all his groggy brain could manage.
The Power let go and leaned over his incapacitated victim, “You won’t be needing it when I’m done. This will only take a second.” The man’s twisted grin revealed two rows of pointed stone teeth.
Dwight grabbed the inmate’s wrist before activating his shock pads. The jolt was enough to throw him back, but the mutant remained on his feet. He seemed more surprised than hurt.
The Power shook off the effects, then rushed back at Dwight, roughly lifting him off the ground by the collar of his shirt. “You’ll regret that, meat. Let me show how we welcome newcomers.” He pulled back his free hand; jagged stone spikes formed over his knuckles.
“You will do no such thing,” a voice bellowed from across the chasm.
The descending fist stopped inches from Dwight’s nose. Its owner’s sadistic expression froze in place.
The voice called out again, “Release him, you repugnant brute.”
The Power did as he was told, dropping Dwight hard against the metal grating. “Now,” his rescuer continued, “you will remove yourself from my presence, seal yourself in an airlock, and rip out one of those nasty teeth for each person you have harmed in your wretched existence.”
The Power shuffled away, his feet dragging as if in a trance.
“Mr. Knolls,” the voice said above him. “You don’t appear to be injured. Are you already dead?” It was Geller, his disheveled hair falling over his weary eyes. The scientist’s thick accent was difficult to understand through Dwight’s clouded senses.
In response, Dwight issued an extended moan, “Working on it. What can I do for you?”
“Excellent,” he said, propping the exhausted man upright, “I believe we may be able to help each other, if you will hear me out.”
“Sure; I’ve got about fifteen hours, I’d wager. What’s on your mind?” Dwight took the scientist’s aid in getting to his feet. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep on the precarious ledge.
They began walking in the direction of the elevator, back into the prison. On the way, the population took notice of their passing, but did what they could to stay out of the way. “You’re looking for Goliath. May I ask why?”
Dwight struggled to come up with a suitable lie, “He has some sensitive information on a group called ‘The Council.’ Ellis and I need to ask him some questions in private, then we can go.”
The old man took particular interest at the name of the shadowy organization, but remained quiet as they headed down a staircase.
After a few minutes of being supported, Dwight felt well enough to carry his own weight. By the time they’d reached the end of the next cor
ridor, his legs were beginning to feel stable again.
Geller straightened his glasses, “You can likely guess that this is hardly a paradise, Mr. Knolls. I may be given certain privileges over the other inhabitants of this prison, but that is not enough. I want to be free, back in the world of our Earth. I do not wish to die in this broken universe.”
Dwight saw an opportunity, “Fine, I can make a deal: If you get me to Bernard, we’ll take you with us on our way out. Can’t say we’ll have much for you when we get back, but you’ll be free.”
“Then we have an agreement, my friend.” The Doctor regarded the hitman with cautious eyes.
Heading through another heavy bulkhead, Dwight noticed a sealed passage to their right. The locking mechanisms of the doorway were welded together, a giant black X painted over the cold surface. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Do you remember what I told my former apprentice about the first away team?” the doctor replied.
Dwight nodded, “Mysteriously killed on the surface, only visible by telescope?”
“That is the story the Warden would like the inmates to believe: there is nothing beyond this place. They must stay here.” He touched the steel barrier, “The truth is that the craft returned on its own, to this hangar bay.”
Peering through the thick safety glass, Dwight saw the shuttle resting unattended at the center of the spacious room. At the opposite wall, the enormous outer doors leading to the lunar surface remained closed.
“We destroyed the means to open the chamber after the guidance systems brought it back. We do not know what killed those men and women. If it was some sort of biological contaminant, we can not have it getting loose on the station – or at absolute worst, through the gateway at Acheron. Just think: if a virus is what caused the death of this Earth – this universe –it could have stowed away in that shuttle.”
Dwight thought about the unknowing world – his world – on the other side of the portal. “Do you have any cameras?” he pressed his organic palm against the cold glass.
“Every pathway into the room has been closed. The Warden even ordered every wire connected to the hangar cut. The light you are seeing inside is entirely from the windows on the outer wall and ceiling. We were very careful to take no chances.”
They walked past the forbidden hangar and headed down the next hallway. In front of the final closed door, the lizard creature Grenn stood guard. The beast snarled at Dwight as he approached with Geller.
Dwight couldn’t help himself, “Do you have a sister?” he asked, unsure if the monster could answer.
The creature hissed in response. It straightened its back, rising to its full intimidating height. A rumbling growl reverberated in its throat.
Geller put his hand across Grenn’s muscular chest, “No need for that. This is my guest.”
The monster backed down, whipping its tail in the air as it stepped aside. The doctor put his palm against a reader, opening the door to his private sanctuary.
As they stepped through, bank after bank of ceiling-mounted lights flickered on. For the most part, the lab felt reminiscent of Ellis’s; across a dozen workspaces, the raw components of a hundred projects lay in various stages of completion. However, unlike Ellis’s meticulous designs, chaotic notes feverishly scrawled over the paneled walls hinted at the madness of their creator. Beside the scientific calculations, drawings of stick figures meeting violent ends felt more appropriate in a bored student’s notebook than a supposed genius’s work space.
Geller led Dwight through the lab, showing off his various unfinished projects. Each of the doctor’s grandiose presentations descended into a frustrated tirade on the failures of the invention. He always blamed a lack of resources or a flaw in the materials – circumstances beyond his control – for his inability to transform humanity with his designs.
Geller was a dreamer who wanted everyone to know his genius. In that pursuit, there would be a million unfinished prototypes in the endless search for what would impress an uncaring populace next. Dwight felt pity for the scientist; the man’s ambitions had cursed him to a lifetime of misappropriated bitterness.
The scientist continued rambling to his inattentive guest, “…and that was when they brought me here. The universal particle engine would have solved the energy crisis forever. Now, if some of them went critical and became unstable, what are a few collapsed quantum fields in exchange for unlimited power?”
Dwight didn’t want to think about the Sierra Grande-sized craters the doctor was describing. “Uh huh. I’m a big fan of solar.”
Geller laughed, “Solar – so inefficient! Even out here, this base generates the majority of its energy from the nuclear reactor at its core.” He dropped a wrench over the incomplete blueprints spread on the table. Dwight wondered if Geller would stop if his captive audience died of boredom. At least when Ellis showed off her insane ideas, she had the courtesy to add layman’s notes for him.
The singular tone he’d heard earlier sounded again. Geller removed a small silver case from his coat pocket. Popping it open, he took a red caplet from the protective foam and swallowed it. The scientist noted his guest’s interest, “They are for the radiation and the effects of living in reduced gravity.” He held the pill case out in front of him, offering one to Dwight, “We will get you a supply as soon as possible, and one for Elizabeth as well.” The old man stopped for a moment, as if he’d only just noticed the Doc’s absence, “Speaking of, where did my former student sneak off to?”
Dwight thought quickly, trying to find a believable alibi for the missing doctor, “She said she was looking for somewhere to set up a lab of her own. I bet she didn’t realize how nice of an operation you have here.”
Geller seemed pleased with the answer, “Ah, Elizabeth – always such an industrious pupil. I’m sure she’ll turn up later. For now, you should take your medicine.”
Dwight did as instructed, only briefly considering the prospect of a catastrophic reaction with the serum. From his splitting headache, he reasoned that the cylinder was nearly spent. He would need to find a quiet place to insert the final cartridge. In twelve hours, he thought, he’d be poisoned by the same chemical cocktail that had saved his life so many times.
“Cheers,” he toasted, taking the crimson capsule and swallowing it. Unsure of what to expect, he mentally prepared himself for everything from blacking out to spontaneously bursting into flames. Instead, he felt sweet relief as his headache dissolved and strained muscles loosened. There was something else, too: a euphoric light-headedness accompanied the medication.
The doctor watched the new arrival’s reaction, “Lovely concoction, isn’t it? ‘Little Devils,’ the inmates have taken to calling them. I added a few extra sedatives after the initial batch – at the Warden’s request – to keep the population under control. Though I’m afraid we’ve all passed the point of addiction to them.”
Dwight rode the high while Geller went on about the formula and its profound effects to stem the inevitable radiation poisoning of their lunar prison.
After a time, he regained enough awareness to interrupt to the doctor’s longwinded description. “What’s in it?” he asked, unsure of the context of Geller’s momentary ranting.
It took Geller a second to realize Dwight’s meaning, “Oh, a few things we’ve cobbled together around the facility. I assure you, besides the addictive qualities, the compound is completely safe.”
“They used to say the same thing about opium, and heroin, and cocaine, and—“
Geller stopped him, “A valid point. Regardless, it is keeping the rather unpleasant inhabitants of this prison healthy and…pacified.”
Dwight found that logic hard to argue with. With the exception of the aggressive mugging, the remainder of the prisoners seemed well-behaved for a group of murderous outcasts. If the worst the average prisoner got up to was a preoccupation with lewd graffiti, they were better than the Powers of New Haven.
“I will give you a room on
this level as a welcome gift. Allow me to show you,” Geller led Dwight out of the lab to a hall of single-room apartments. This section was free of the clutter that seemed an inescapable part of the rest of the complex. He could see why the Warden had taken this area of the base as her gang’s private quarters. Though tiny by Earth standards, the living conditions felt identical to the abandoned suites on Acheron.
The doctor left him at the door to his unit, adding as he walked back to his laboratory, “Do be on the lookout for Elizabeth; I would like her help with some rather frustrating research.”
Alone in the small unit, Dwight evaluated his quarters. There was a living area with a drab gray futon. Opposite was a flat-panel monitor; he tried the remote, finding only static on the screen, before turning it off and continuing his inspection. There was a closet-sized bathroom just off the living area. Next to the door, he found a workstation; the terminal built into the fixed desk came with a retractable chair. With nothing to do while Ellis went about retrieving her tools and the lingering feeling of chemically-induced pleasure still dulling his senses, he laid on the sofa and waited.
A short time later, he was awoken by a crash. The wire panel covering the ceiling vent of his tiny apartment dropped suddenly, clanging against the tiled floor inches from the edge of his sofa. Dwight shot up with a startled gasp. Before the rattling plate could come to a complete stop, Ellis’s dirty face peered over the side of the air duct.
“Found you!” she announced happily, heaving her bag down onto Dwight.
The container landed heavily against his unprepared stomach. She dragged herself through the hole, landing gracefully to the side of the fallen grate. As she caught herself, a cloud of choking dust shook loose from her filthy lab coat. It drifted over the apartment.
“How long have I been out?” Dwight coughed.
Ellis ignored his discomfort, slapping more of the noxious residue from her clothing, “It took quite a bit longer than I expected to get back up the elevator. Mostly because I had to ride on the outside while the Warden went to check on some incoming supplies.”
